palest blue, some say,
duck egg, with rust,
slight dusting of rose
to combat corrugated iron.

yes i am inclined to agree; it will be an uphill journey
for us both.
to learn, to grow

dreamed of devastation,           flew miles        low

over concrete .   skeletons,      bones of the thing.

all is dust, as dust we have become.

yesterday I watched a documentary
about monkeys

the anxiety failed later in the day
a more comfortable place as i
watched other peoples ways and
opinions

we saw the lights in the village

it all starts here today
and will take a long time

there are so many many of us
lots upon lots

though early the lanes are clear
he sees no one
only the ice and frost

goes tentatively in the wrong boots

imagines the slipping so moves
the phone to a front pocket in

case

his imagination runs riot
as before and remembering

not to use the first word
that comes in his mind

or too many recognizable
cliches james

so we talked about dna alterations
those tracking devices they say are
inserted

and laughed over the silliness
of our conversation and then

i drew the tidy face and then

the scaffolders came

details
and wonder if there is any hope

will they miss me there or
merely carry on regardless

one seventy nine

=

one pound seventy nine

or

one pound and seventy nine pence.

is how we says it
here

a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,only just a theory,


yet used independently,
alongside honest work,
for mending.

rain comes here in waves
reflecting feelings

sometimes i can smell the sea
though some miles from the shore

the power house rears its head again,
pouring images down
like rain.

we look for sand

there is a nice long beach and lovely views out to sea

the sea that is rising

things will do for now
until it changes again

slightly

most of it works now,
memory plays a part,
when we look
to the mountain.

i guess you are out on the bike speeding about the tracks


whizzing along
and i may have found a photo and wonder if it is true


exercise came unusual friday

a walk with the cat in tow

not too far for fear
of losing her


then a repeat with seceteurs in the lane 


the log run came heavy unloading then stacking


required coffee after
and escapist drawing

.raining.

they forecast it,
we do not listen any more,
just check the window.

there may be after effects
yet

nobody suggested a flock of pigeons

at 2pm that snowy afternoon

and that notes will be made

no one mentioned sleeping
later than usual

those chin tattoos
that come all beautiful
and trendy

no one thought that you will like one…

decline

to say no, or even to fail softly with a sloping line

tapering off into dots repeated

the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

these are the longer days, lighter days, wood pile growing, apple wood, colours of joy. believe in the world, that you can spell first time. be proud as you point out where you live, at all there is.

i hear that all is arrived and tested
well done everyone

those that invented
those that made and packed
shipped

and he who unpacked and put together

romping was the focus
after crawling

it is all remembered
like riding a bike
they say

we watched it come down over the mountain spreading

slowly

as the cloud passed by the sun

after cooling indoors we went to see

the maker in the lower field

they say my brother
would walk to Sherry’s
for the stales with a pillow

case to carry they say

he never ate none on
the way home and i

wonder if that is true

later years gran would
take me in the shop
to buy fresh

she favoured the cream horns.

so i says to the bear when he woke,



hello,

i will be quiet today.



why, he replies.



my friend has died.



the bear says, then i shall be quiet too.

was noted that some folk aren’t bothered and carry on without looking
the difference is a thing

touch of red
suggested at dinner, to make
a photograph splendid, i noticed
the same in paintings at exhibition.

it comes a wider space, with mistakes and misgivings.

nothing in this world is perfect.

:: uncle ::

tell him he needs to focus

best eye forward to stop complaining


it is for safety purposes

the rules are made


the family all seem to have

problems with vision

even the dog


things go fast and seep into distant

beings


fairies again


or is it simply the pressure?

maybe you had your own money
not the exact amount  handed

to my brothers
with prime instructions

and no looking at the
forbidden places

nor loitering by the cafe

or

bought by mother
independently
as a gift

where were  the choices

you seemed to have

not here, not here.

james

no one
is looking, there is no one here. we are not afraid of
the night.

we spin.

met her at the forest by the hotel
we were volunteers
and seemed to get on well

agreed to visit the fabric store
at the coast
see the rusted ships together

be friends

just before the pandemic hit

we connect on social media now

there are others met at london

the exhibition

and akhenaten

there is a pause in proceedings
that can’t be helped

winter brings differing challenges

objects fall and are mended

it is

nearly the end of november

abakhan

bought her tea set gently in parts
each week from woolworths and i still have
some of it

the idea left us dancing.

use what is already there,
make do and mend

Yes chilly and windy here yesterday.

Another exciting day in that the neighbours were having a tree felled and it was interesting to watch between tasks and warming up.

Ivor called to look at the greenhouse and left me to mull over ideas.

Then I started to define one of the paths with the gravel that was delivered. Did not rush as I will like it in a good place so hope to continue today.

Rang my brother, he is fine.

Then Pat Doorbar rang , also fine.

Not much on TV so listened to a podcast about space debris and drifted off.

With capitals and punctuation today. A treat.

serendipidy
all is honesty
i have a witness.

evidence produced.

we do so many things.

we are no longer afraid.

make the best of summer days,

winter follows.

do you know the dark corner

behind damask

where music plays?


do you know why the tree died

why the paint smudged?


some know and remember the years

less for some than others


some paint tidy all realism while

others paint a different way


i know why the tree died . i do.

i know that the stove ticks when lit

so the falling days,
end today, winter waits,
and the songs, and words,
tunes are all to warm us,
and hold us safe

during the day, sun shining,

is this spring, or summer

now? clearing the debris,

painting it white.



birds gather, as the

radio plays.



we dance in the greenhouse.

grass

holds the sand.

sand holds

the grass.


have you walked the dunes

hollowed path, coconut gorse.


have you found contentment there?


have you sat the sun, black crow bird,

have you closed your eyes at that

within, enjoyed that

without?


the tin hut is still empty.

we will not have blankets,

if there are none, take the old

rags, layer , stitch and stitch

by hand till fingers bleed.


work along the coast

with thread and diligence.


gather wools, layer carefully,

we shall have warmth this winter.


we will have quilts to share.

black rook, flies over white moon

"and who allowed you to live a beautiful life?”

perhaps it helps them to feel safe
or is it designed by those
who wish to keep them
below

i wonder


21.22

I will take you to the slate.
Blaenau Ffestiniog,
Tanygrisiau,
Cwm Orthin lost and gone.
It lays all around, littered
sliding, sparkling with rain.

grey and ugly they say
but have they sat a while,
storage heaters and thrones,
they are, the slates
perfumed moss and earth.

we will wander up the rise
where mothers push the buggies,
and boys off road from Croesor
mud and slate chips, scattering
splattering.

we may pass the lake
where the sheep bathe
and we shall bathe too
pooled in water
slated, lilied, green

i shall walk you
to the fences, slate fences,
drawn with names
from the past, graffiti
men’s names, welsh names,
proud.

we shall sit by the chapel
listening for the voices
murmuring, singing
welsh voices,
and we will join in the song
with our hearts

let us visit the old homes,
scattered stone, and windows blind,
wind hunting hair to lift,
doors to rattle,
all gone, all gone
down to the valley,
and away.

time stands still
and i will watch you.
take photographs

time is limited these days.
those one admired in youth
devastate us now.

can we know all things .we
only went twice ?

your birthday at the zoo.
while
we were at the national
library of wales, aberystwyth.

high ceilings, automatic doors.
trod carefully the red carpet,
saw the landscapes quiety.

film maker in residence.

webmakers in conference.

tape tied book, reminds
me, silent face a memory.

i will return to the
national library of wales,
aberystwyth.

no photos allowed.

while in the studio a series
commenced

marching in time
across the board

at dusk the view magnetic

assumimg you are safe
i tell you about the villages
close by yet still over the
mountain

where the good grub is
for midwinter while men
buzz about hunting

while i disapprove
and eat the vegatables

where the man talks about
his toe endlessly as the other
word is rather complex & all
this with only one paid for cup
of tea

where the child lays low playing
and unscrewing the chair legs

where the night comes earlier
each day and pheasants walk

the lanes in procession. this
was a gathering
this was a confession

yesterday
was not quite
midwinter
solstice
yet

..blue sky..

she said she liked the stories

except I did not tell them
i never tell you much
nor all of it

there are bits left to fill in
yourselves

so flimsy it is hardly there.
so worn, it is almost dead.

recreate the dying in your head.

so small it is hardly there.
so cheap it is almost dead.

draw it. recreate the scene in your head.